


broken bones and healing hearts

by wonderlondh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Slash, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlondh/pseuds/wonderlondh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is just repairing himself, Harry tries to convince himself. In time, they’ll be united again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	broken bones and healing hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So if you didn't noticed this has a major character death warning and also, I'm sorry.

Three months is how long they’ll give it.

For three months the machines will be turned on, pumping the blood in and out of Louis’ heart and keep his chest rising and falling. Three months is a long time, Harry tries to tell himself. So much can happen only in the blink of an eye and in this moment he knows he would give anything to get to spend only those three months with Louis. To really be with him.

Then again, three months is nothing. Harry also knows that three months can pass and nothing happen. He knows how easy it is to wake up every morning, push yourself through the day and go back to bed, and before you know it the trees are changing and a quarter of a year has passed. That’s the thing with time – even if you really try to make yourself aware of it, it eventually slips your mind. And, of course, the fact that you always expect to get more of it.

“It’s standard regulations”, the doctors and nurses tell him and Harry shudder at the words, but he gets it. To them, Louis is just another patient in a night gown; he’s just another unfortunate human being stuck in the inevitable side effect of death – life.

Things don’t go back to normal completely, but Harry tries his best and from the look of it he manages to fool everyone but himself. He goes back to work and people pat his back in the simplest act of compassion. They tell him to stick in it as if he has a choice and send him their blessing as if his sudden misfortune makes them mightier than him. He knows that they’re only doing it to be nice and to be honest it would probably be worse if they didn’t do it. And hell, Harry knew he would be doing to same thing if this was happening to anyone but himself. But still, it makes him feel so small, so incredibly insignificant.

He sometimes wonder if he ever crosses any of his coworkers minds even when he’s not in the room, or if he creeps into their everyday conversations at home over the dinner table with their wives or husbands. “This guy at work” they would start off, no name to make it less personal, “it’s such a shame really… they’ve given it three months… can’t imagine that it must be like”. He wonders if there is a dense silence around the table as story finishes and fades away. Maybe for a few minutes the family just sits there and all you can here is the faint sound of cutlery against porcelain plates and someone who mumbles, “Such a shame” under their breath. Then, as someone scrapes their chair against the wooden floors, everything returns to normal and “this guy from works” disappears back into the memory of the people around the table, folded up and placed neatly on the shelf that all humans have hidden away for “things to remind me that it could always be worse when I’m feeling down”.

Harry’s not sure what’s worse – not being acknowledged at all, or being and then never spoken of again? But he knows it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matter to him right now is making sure time doesn’t pass too fast and that these days don’t become three months without anything but the branches of the trees changing. But really, he reminds himself, who is he to try and control time?

After all, that is how time works, always has and always will; seconds turn to minutes; minutes turn to hour; hours turn to days; and this is your life.

*

And so a month passes. Every night Harry lies awake in bed with the dense darkness pressing in on him, mindlessly letting his hands travel over the bed sheet, searching for the warmth of a body that is supposed to be there, but all he feels under his trembling fingertips are cold sheets and too much space. Each time his muscles tense up as he realizes what’s he’s doing and defensively he pulls his hands back, pressing them to his body for minutes before he even realizes why he’s doing it; to stop them from shaking. And maybe, he sometimes thinks even though the thought feels like a kick in his stomach, to keep himself together; keep himself from falling apart.

It’s always long past midnight before sleep finally washes over him and pulls him into a deep, dreamless state where he wishes to go back to every morning when the alarm clock goes off with its shrill tone. Now that he’s all alone the bed feels too big, like it will swallow him whole, and the flat tone seems to jump back and forth between the walls, growing bigger and louder with each bounce, until it will crash down on him like a meteor. But before this happens – before he drowns himself in blankets and before he allows himself to let the pain get to him – he throws his legs over the edge and stands on the cold wooden floor, letting the fear drain off him, and sometimes, if even only for a split second, in that moment,  he feels okay. Then the hard part of making it though another day begins.

Another thing with time is that it’s never consistent. A simply thing Harry learned in physics on one of the few classes when he was actually attending and paying attention was that time is personal. Like an internal clock ticking its own pace, sometimes quicker and sometimes incredible slow. Out of all the things Harry had learnt that class this was probably the only thing he could remember today. And still, fully aware of it, he didn’t see what difference it made.

He thinks about it a lot, though. On his way to work, at night when the TV was lighting up the room with color that appeared blue no matter what the screen was showing and of course at night. Especially at night. On all those restless night he spends staring at the ceiling after he’s given up all hope of ever falling asleep, this simple statement of time always entered his mind.

When Harry was little, maybe seven or eight years old, back in the simple days were things were never more complicated than “blue or pink” or “chocolate or vanilla” – and even when they were, they weren’t –, he used to spend a lot of time at the playground. When his Mom or sister couldn’t come with him he went alone. And on those days time was always such a strange thing, Harry thought. Sometimes he’d leave right after lunch time, walking across the road with the sun directly above his head, with his hands in his pockets and a cap on his head. The playground wasn’t far from his house. If he climbed to the top of the slide Harry could see his front door between the cars parked on the drive way. Sometimes Harry sat on that slide, staring at his house, just waiting for someone to come out the door so he could wave at them. At those times, time seemed to stretch on forever.

Then there were days when there never seemed to be enough time. When he barely had time swing high enough to peek over the treetops before his Mom would come to get him.

Thinking back on it now, Harry’s not sure which one is better – a life passing so incredibly slowly as you continue to wait for something to happen, or a life passing so fast you can barely grip on to it?

*

On Christmas Eve, Louis’ birthday, they pass one and a half month. Harry spends his day going back and forth between shops to finish off the Christmas shopping he hasn’t been able to pay a single thought to until this day. As he finds himself standing before the freezing counters, contemplating whether he should go for chicken or pork, he forgets for a second where he has to go after this. As he slides the lid open and the chilly air hits his face, his mind is drifting away to a world where he’ll go home to a lit up apartment and make Louis a romantic birthday dinner.

And then he remembers. The reality kicks in like a slap in the face and Harry has to clutch his hands to his stomach and bite his lip so hard the metallic taste starts sipping into his mouth. All in an attempt to not throw up or fall to the ground. He leaves the store and sits in the darkness of his car for a long time before he finally turns the key and drives off on the roads he knows far too well by now.

A hospital is no fun place to be. Still, it’s nothing compared to a hospital on Christmas Evening. While the staff has tried their hardest to get the Christmas feeling with decorations in the windows and on the counters, the eerie breath of death that always seems to be running down Harry’s neck as he enters the familiar room sort of ruins it, though.

“Happy birthday, Lou”, he whispers as he slides the door shut behind him. He walks up to the bed and carefully takes a seat in the chair next to it. It creaks a little under him as he leans forward to press his hands to Louis’. He does this every time he comes here. And each time he is surprised at how warm the older boy’s skin feels against his own, how alive he feels.

Because lying tuck in beneath the light covers, with tubes sticking in and out of his body and machines pumping him full with chemicals, alive is the last word Harry would use to explain his appearance. But he is alive, Harry keeps telling himself, his chest is rising and falling and his blood is rushing through his veins, in the direction of his heart - he just needs a little help with it as he repairs the rest of his body.

“I brought you a present.” Harry swallows around the thick lump in his throat that never quite seems to go away these days and picks up the small package from his bag. Making sure the bow on top of the little box is intact, Harry carefully places the wrapped up gift on the bedside table. “For when you can open it yourself”, he mumbles and looks back at Louis’ face. Despite the bruises and stitches he still looks like _his_ Louis. The happy, carefree boy with too much energy late at night and messy hair in the morning. “I want it to be special, you know?”

Harry sighs and gets off his seat to lean over the cold railing of the bed. He gets closer to Louis, so close he can feel the heat of his body against his skin.

“Please wake up, Louis”, he whispers, his mouth hovering millimeters above his face. “Please come back, because I really need you, I realize that now. I can’t go on with my life without you here. I feel like I can’t even breathe. You are a part of me, greater and even more important than I ever realized, and I without you by my side it’s like I’m just this big gaping hole tucking in on myself and… and I’m not sure I can handle this.” With those words Harry lowers himself and presses his lips to Louis’ forehead, feeling closer to him than he has in the past few months, but still so far away. Like there is an entire universe of shooting stars and burning planets and black holes between them, separating them, determined to keep them apart.

And in the back of Harry’s head a voice he desperately tries to ignore shouts back at him, louder and more aggressive each time, how this might be the closest he’ll ever be to Louis again.

*

With the bright fireworks of New Years Eve a new year begins. Harry is sat next to Louis’ bed, holding his hand as the clock on the wall counts down. 5-4-3-2-1…

There are three more boys in the room, close friends of Harry and Louis’. Liam, with his sweet eyes and never ending compassion and will to understand, raises his glass as the clock strikes twelve.

“For Louis”, he says and the two boys by his side follow his lead.

“For a better year”, Zayn adds.

“And a more fair world”, Niall mumbles and sweeps his champagne.

Harry smiles down at Louis. “Happy new year, Lou.” His closed eyelids are still deep blue from broken veins and his face looks swollen and the hot skin against Harry’s feels fragile, like he might break it if he were to squeeze too hard, act too carelessly.

But he looks better than yesterday, and better than the day before that, and Harry reminds himself that it’s better like this. Louis’ body is just getting stronger and thinking about pain he would be in if he were awake right now keeps Harry’s hope up. In time, Harry tells himself, he’ll wake up. And then he sends a silent prayer that that time will come before it’s too late.

Liam, Niall and Zayn stand by the window and watch the fireworks in the distance, the sparkling colors lighting up their eyes. Harry stays by the bed, holding Louis’ hands, but still feels blessed by his friends’ company.

On the bed side table sits the small box from a week before, still wrapped up with the shiny bow on top. Harry studies it for a second and then turns back to Louis.

“For our year”, he says and drags his thumb along Louis’ jaw and neck, caressing the healing wounds and bruised skin. “Please join me for it.”

*

When Harry gets back to the hospital two days later the first snow of the year is settling on the ground. He drives slowly on the icy roads and clings to the steering wheel. People honk as they recklessly swerve past him. Harry ignores is, but inside he’s boiling up, wish they could just realize that making it to work a few minutes earlier is not worth it if the person you love the most ends up in hospital. In the end, all that time you saved every morning will never make up for the time you’ll lose.

The nurses greet him as he walks down the familiar hall. By now, they know his face and do their best to help keep his hopes up.

“There was a guy who was in a coma for over a year, and then, right when they were about to shut him off, he woke up. Just like that and he was perfectly fine,” a young guy in squeaking plastic shoes tells him as he changes the band-aids on Louis’ arms.

Harry smiles, knowing he’s only trying to be nice, but it doesn’t really help. Because he also knows that cases like those, the miracles you read about in the morning paper, are nothing like what has happened to Louis. Those aren’t people whose bodies have practically been ripped apart and stitched together again.

*

Another week passes. 7 days and 7 nights, and Louis is getting worse. When Harry arrives late on a Monday night after work, they usually empty room is filled with nurses and doctor taking notes and checking values. Harry stops outside the glass door and feels a sting of nausea rush to his stomach. Right when he thinks his knees are about to give in a hand lands on his shoulder and the steady grip soon leads him away.

“Harry, right?” he man – presumably a doctor, judging from his white coat and the stethoscope around his neck – asks as they walk down the hall, his hand still resting firmly on Harry’s shoulder, barely keeping him up.

Harry nods and swallows hardly to keep his dinner down. “Yes, yes, um, is… is Louis alright?” He sounds scared, like his voice might crack, like his body might fall apart.

The man stops and faces Harry. His face is soft and there is tenderness in the way he looks back at Harry. Harry shifts on his feet, chews on his lip and frown worriedly.

At last the doctor drags in a long breath. “Well, to be honest with you, Harry, no. No, he’s not alright. But you need me to tell you that. You can just take one look into that room,” he nods down the hall, “to tell that the young man lying in there is in fact not alright. His condition for the past week has been steady, but it’s getting critical. We’ve had to set him up to stronger medications and the way it looks right now his heart is barely able to function even with the help we’re putting in there.”

He pauses and looks at Harry, a sudden wrinkle between his eyes and a sad smile on his lips as he sighs. Harry interrupts him just as his is about to go on.

“But he is going to be alright, right?” He sounds desperate and the tears burn in the corners of his eyes. “He’s going to be fine; you can fix him, right?”

“This morning he had a kidney failure. We had to take him into surgery and we were able to fix it temporarily, but it’s not a good sign. He’s getting weaker and his organs are beginning to shut down. We are doing the best we can, but right now it’s not looking good.”

Harry shakes his head, no longer even trying to force back the tears, and his brain is searching for something to say, something to do. In the end, he remains silent.

“What I need you to do right now, Harry,” the old doctor, with his over comb and rounded glasses, finally says, “is try to prepare for the worst.”

With that, the floor suddenly approaches Harry faster than he can react and as he hears himself let out a whimpering sound against the cold tiles, his sight goes blank.

*

At the end of the month, things are tough. Harry realizes that bosses aren’t very compassionate and his weeks now mostly include emotionless days at an office filled with people who stare and mumble, followed by sleepless nights. He tries not to count the days, but each waking morning there is another reminder as soon as he picks up his phone, checks the paper or decides to watch the news. The clocks seem to be ticking faster than ever before and in the dead of night, when the rest of the world is fast asleep, Harry lies awake, staring into the vast darkness, and counts each and every tick of the clock.

A minute is 60 seconds. An hour is 3600 seconds. And a lifetime is really not that much longer.

The silence has stopped feeling weird, though. It’s scary at time, of course, and Harry still expects there to be someone whistling in the kitchen when he comes out of the shower, but it doesn’t feel as strange as it did to begin with. And that scares Harry more than a lot of things.

He is still allowed visit Louis, but the visiting hours are restricted and kept short. For the past week they’ve kept Louis deeply sedated to give his body a chance to catch up, so to speak. But this also means Harry can only see his boyfriend very few times. And under the dead eyes of nurses and among the endless flickering and beeping of machines, Harry started wondering if the boy lying in the bed before him was really the same boy he’s fallen in love with a few years earlier. Would he be the same when he woke up, or had all these tubes and injections sucked the soul out of him? ( _If_ he woke up, but Harry is still refuses to think that way.)

On Monday Louis is taken off the heaviest drugs and put back in his original room. When Harry arrives to see him he is suddenly struck by such an overwhelming desire to run away again. Sure, Louis was back in his original room with the deep blue curtains and a TV that probably has never been used, but as Harry enters through the sliding glass doors all he can think is how home it feels. Like returning to his own apartment after a weekend spent at his mom’s house. And that is scary because it was never supposed to get to this. Louis was supposed to have woken up by now and this eerie hospital room was supposed to be merely a memory they would already be trying to put behind them.

Harry stops a few feet away from the bed. He bites his lips, trying to think of something to say.

“I really think it’s time for you to wake up now,” he mumbles at last and feels a bit stupid, but mostly painfully powerless.

*

_“Do you see the star over there”, Louis asks softly and points against the deep blue sky. The sun has just disappeared beneath the horizon and Harry can feel the darkness and the calmness it brings starting to settle around them. He leans his head against Louis’ shoulder._

_“There are a lot of stars”, he whispers with his lips against the older boy’s neck._

_“Yeah, but that one, right there. Do you see it?” Louis insists and Harry squints out at the sky. Right in front of them, above the housetops there is one star shining slightly brighter than the ones around it, twinkling slightly more tenaciously._

_Harry nods and leans back into Louis._

_“That’s you”, Louis says and Harry frowns._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I mean, to me, that’s you. You’re like that star in many more ways that I think you can understand, but mostly because you shine so much brighter than everyone else around you and you’ve always got that twinkle in your eye. And I love you so much. Whenever my mind starts wandering it goes directly to you, the same way that my eyes go directly to that star. You’re my star, Harry, and I just wanted to tell you.”_

_The silence falls around them as Louis stops talking, setting down on them like a soft blanket. Harry is so taken back for a second that he doesn’t even know what to say, but then Louis pulls him in closer and presses his lips against the top of his head. Harry chuckles and says,_

_“Well, in that case, you’re the sun.”_

_Their eyes meet for a short moment and Louis rolls his eyes. “Always have to top me off, don’t you?” he mumbles inches from Harry’s face before he leans in to close the distance between them._

_“I love you too”, Harry breathes into Louis’ mouth._

_*_

 On Friday, Liam insists Harry should go out with them. Harry, as usual, reclines politely and thinks he’s gotten off easily once again as he hangs up the phone, but minutes later there is a knock on the door.

“We’re going out”, Niall announces as Harry opens the doors and despite everything Harry can’t help crack a smile at the blond boy with his never ending optimism.

It’s dark before they arrive at the small pub in the west of London. The rain that’s been pouring for the past week or so slowly starts forming into tiny, sparkling snowflakes, soaring down gracefully around the four boys as they run from Harry’s car into the heat and smell of cheap beer and old whiskey.

“Drinks are on me tonight”, Zayn tells them as they sit down by a table and an old man arrives to take their order.

Harry smiles, feeling grateful for the amazing friends he’s been blessed with, but there is still that constant reminder in the back of his head – heart monitors echoing along with the flashing images of bruised skin and broken bones. He tries to push it aside. Just for tonight, Harry thinks, as he empties the first shot into his mouth. Just for tonight let’s pretend everything is alright.

Two hours and 5 pints later the world is spinning. Liam is going on about some girl he’s started seeing and Niall is laughing louder than anyone else in the pub. Zayn cracks bad jokes and Harry is feeling lighter than he’s done in weeks.  

“So I tell him, ‘No. No, I’m not gonna do that, mate and you can’t force me.’” Niall splutters, “And you know what he did?”

It’s moments like this that Harry has to focus his absolute hardest on making it past Niall’s heavy accent. He has probably missed important parts of the story that the young lad is telling him already, but despite the fact that he barely understands, Harry shakes his head.

“He just grabbed me arm, like he just hooked on to me shirt, and he literally threw me out the door. Can you believe it?”

Harry stares back a Niall with large eyes, mostly because of the beer and not the story, but Niall doesn’t know that.

“So I just get off me bum again and I go to smack him in the face and then _boom, crack, slam_! Me hand just hit the wall instead and I just looked at it and man I tell you it hurt so bad and there was blood everywhere and it was sick. Sick!”

On the other side of the table Zayn and Liam are shrieking with laughter and Harry joins them to. Not because Niall’s story was that funny, or even because he wants to laugh, but because it feels good. It feels relieving and as Harry dries the corner of his eyes he feels, for the first time in months, happy.

And then suddenly, as Harry looks up at the boys surrounding him, as the shaking laughter begin to fade, he realizes there is someone missing. The seat next to him echoes empty and his chest suddenly feels heavy, engulfing. Around him his friends are smiling, but for Harry it’s getting harder to breathe. There is a sweet voice, with its clinging tone and soft edge, missing in the background noise. It feels like the walls are caving in on him, like there is not enough air in the room to fill up his lungs, and on shaking legs he stands up. His sudden move sends a half empty glass flying across the table and the rest of the boys fall silent as they stare up at Harry, surprised.

“I need to go”, Harry mumbles, trembling with his hands over his back pocket, searching for the car keys.

Before anyone has a chance to react Harry is hurrying out the door. The cold splashes over him, but despite the chilly air that feels relieving in his burning chest, there is still a lump in his throat and a pounding in his head.

 _How could I forget? How could I let myself forget_? He wonders as he rushes across the parking lot toward his car. His wobbles once, catches himself from falling and then continues on forward.

“Harry!”Someone calls out behind him. He hears steps catching up behind him and the person calling out his name again.

“What are you doing?!” It’s Liam, he realizes, but keeps walking until he reaches the car. “You can’t drive now, Harry, you’re _drunk_!” Liam shouts and catches up to Harry just as he is about to get in the car. Gripping onto Harry’s thin wrists Liam yanks the younger boy up against the side of the car, causing him to cry out loud in discontent.

Harry stares back at Liam, furiously, but has to bite his lip to keep the burning tears from escaping his eyes.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Liam asks again, softer this time, with furrowed eyebrows that make him look both worried and angry.

Harry is panting, struggling to set his mind straight, and when he fails, again and again and again, he breaks.

“I don’t know, Liam, I just can’t take this anymore, any of it, I’m just so – so helpless,” Harry chokes and bend his head forward in an act of defeat, leaning against Liam’s chest. “I’m so scared, Liam. I’m so, so, so scared, and I don’t think you understand.”

Liam sighs and releases his grips around Harry’s wrists. “Harry… I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am”, he whispers and wraps his arms around the younger boys body and presses his lips against the top of his head.

“What if he doesn’t wake up, Liam? What if I’ll never see him again? I don’t think I can live without him here, I really don’t”, Harry cries into the thin fabric of Liam’s shirt. It’s messy and sloppy and the sight of his friend breaking apart sends a sting of guilt and pure sadness into Liam’s chest. He wants to tell him that everything is going to be alright, that Louis will wake up and everything is going to go back to normal, but he can’t even form the words. He can’t lie to his best friend, because the temporary comfort would be nothing compared to the endless pain he’d add to, if it turned out any different. False comfort only works until reality snaps back and hits you in the face.

Harry feels smaller than he’s ever done, like there might be something eating away at him from inside and it’s has finally reaches his core. He buries his head deeper into Liam’s chest and grasps onto the older boy with all that he’s worth.

“I can’t even remember the color of his eyes, Liam”, he sobs silently. Liam swallows hardly and watches as the falling snowflakes starts settling in the younger boy’s dark curls .

“I need to see him, Liam. I really have to go see him. I can’t just leave him, I can’t – I just can’t.” Harry suddenly breaks away again and presses back against the car.

Liam closes his eyes, tries to think straight despite the alcohol rushing through his blood system.

“You can’t drive, Harry,” he sighs and suddenly sounds tired. “We can – let’s just go inside and call you a cab, alright?”

Harry shakes his head and winces to hold back the tears. “I have to go. Now. It might be too late if we wait; I really have to go, Liam. ”

As he speaks, Harry realizes what he really means is it might be too late, not for Louis, but for himself. And with those words he yanks the door open and gets inside. Liam stops him just as he is about to swing it closed again.

“Harry, come on now, don’t be stupid. You could get hurt out there.” Liam grasps around Harry’s wrist again, stopping him in his tracks.

And then Harry looks up at Liam with an expression so helpless and exhausted Liam thinks his heart breaks a little at the sight. He wants to help and maybe it is a result of the vodka that’s blurring up his eyes, or maybe it’s the snowflakes falling, soaring around them and looking so beautiful under the streetlamps, or maybe the endless depth of green in Harry’s eyes that cry out for understanding. Whatever it is, it’s the last string stretching and snapping back, it’s the last piece of the puzzle of Harry’s life and his fate that falls into place.

Liam lets his hands fall away, defeated and numb. He stands back as Harry backs out and drives away. His eyes follow the back light of Harry’s car until they’re just tiny specks in the distance. He watches his friend drive away and prays he’s done the right thing.

*

Less than 10 minutes later, Harry doesn’t see the two beams of lights emerging around the corner, making the snowflakes sparkle momentarily. He also doesn’t feel the hit. All he feels, a moment later, is the cold, wet ground against his cheek and the bare tips of his fingers. A stoplight and two cars going too fast, too reckless, in different directions and the flashing speck of lights before his eyes, that’s all Harry remembers.

He thinks, maybe I could stay. But there is a numbing pain flaring down his spine and a drowsiness in his head like someone kicked the life out of his body. He tries to breathe, hangs on the each and every breath. The sharp shards of a broken a windshield glimmer in the faint light of cars approaching and Harry can help but marvel at how beautiful it all looks. In the back of his head the image of a blue eyed boy with flushed cheeks and tussled hair appears, and Harry thinks, _of course_.

An old memory, where it’s just the two of them, lying side by side under a purple night sky, eyes that steal the light of the brightest stars and kisses that steal the end of sentences.

_“Do you think there is something bigger out there? Somewhere you go when you can’t stay here any longer?”_

_“I hope there is.”_

_“I bet it’s beautiful.”_

Harry realizes the glimmering in is Louis’ eyes; light, light, light blue like spring mornings and waves washing over him to take him away.  “I hope there is,” he whispers with the air of his last breath; his lungs deflating one last time; his eyes falling shut; the world trickling away between his fingers.

_And I’ll see you there._

*

Louis Tomlinson never wakes up. Unlike the death of his boyfriend, this is no shock. It is late Tuesday night, in a room half empty, only holding three of his closest friends and the echoing absent of a curly haired boy, that a nurse in squeaking shoes shuts the machines off. With a single click the beeping stops and the ringing silence feels heavy.

“It could be a while”, the nurse mumbles as he begins to wrap up the wires and tubes around the bed.

“We’ll stay”, Liam, the only one steady enough to speak, says quietly. On the other side of the bed Zayn absent mindedly drags his fingers across the cold blanket and then stops as he nudges into Louis’ hand, still warm, still alive. Liam looks at him with sad eyes and bites his lip to keep it from shaking too much.

“He was a good guy”, Liam whispers as a single tear rolls down his cheek.

Next to him Niall shakes his head slowly. “Nah, man, he was a great guy.” He pauses and exhales deeply. “I’m gonna miss him.”

“He’ll be fine.” Liam says a few minutes later, voice shaken. “He’ll be with Harry.”

*

Two hours later the skyline of Louis’ heartbeat falls flat. His chest deflates and is followed by an eerie silence. He is removed from the room under a white sheet, though his skin is still warm and still glooming with life that once was.

The room is emptied of people, the lights are turned off and the door is shut closed.

On the bed side table sits a small, dusty box, still wrapped up in its shiny paper with a slightly crumpled bow on top. Inside it a white gold ring aches for a splash of sunlight. On the inside of it, engraved in curly letters, it reads, “ _for broken bones and healing hearts; my love”._  

It is an act of love, a proof of affection. A promise that was meant for earth, but could only be fulfilled someplace else.

_And I’ll see you there._

*

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave your feedback and thoughts on this. Anything to help me get better, really. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: sextlondon.tumblr.com
> 
> x


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